The Real Revelations 1
by walkthepathofdaydreams
Summary: Secrets are revealed when Reid needs to convince an unsub's wife to start talking. The only person who can get her to give up information is him, because he was once in the same place. Knowledge from books is his specialty, but first hand knowledge can be just as useful.


"That was good work out there, when you convinced the unsub's wife to talk," Hotch said as he approached Reid, who was leant against the brick wall of Hareville Police Department. Reid continued to stare down at his beat up Chuck's, not wanting to face what they both knew now. He wouldn't take it back, it helped solve the case, but he'd be damned if he didn't wish that it could have been done another way.

"Thanks," Reid replied blasely. He knew it was no use, because despite the fact that Reid could manipulate his emotions just as well as Hotch, he couldn't take away his common sense. "I just profiled her."

"You and I both know that's not true. Even Rossi didn't think about it that way, and he's been doing this since before you were born. You were telling the truth, you were genuinely speaking from experience."

There was silence between the two of them for a moment. Finally, Reid offered up some information. He knew Hotch wouldn't pry in the same manner as the others, but he wouldn't just let this slide. It wasn't everyday you here your fiance utter the words, "I know what it's like. Everyone is telling you he is a bad person, and that it is wrong for you to love him. It's not wrong to still love him, Kathy. But it is wrong to let him get away with this." Everyone told him Hotch was good for him, and rarely did anyone ever say Hotch was a bad person. But the sincerity was real.

"I told Elle her first week here because I knew she was in the same boat. I mean, she chose to stay in the closet, but Gideon pretty much forced me to stay in the closet, but either way she was someone I could tell. She asked me what he was like. I said, 'the most morally upstanding guy I know.'" He paused for a minute and squints at the sky, as if debating whether to continue.

"A month after he died, I saw a therapist. They asked what he was like. I almost said the same thing, out of habit. Then I realized. . .it's never smart to tell a therapist, or anyone really, that the most morally upstanding guy you knew was a serial killer. Of course, that's not what I thought of when I first think of him. I. . .he was my first love, the guy who made me smile all the time.

"So of course, I tried to think of what to say. Kind was out too. Eventually I landed on, 'He was the opposite of me.' That meant different things for each of us, but so be it. It's not like anyone will ever have my perspective on him."

The silence settled once again. "Is your answer different now?"

"No," Reid chuckled bitterly. Hotch, for once, didn't know what to say. What was he supposed to say? His boyfriend, who he up until now saw as someone who had barely ever dated, had been in love with the people they hunt. He probably still was in love with him, in the same way Haley would always be Hotch's once in a lifetime love.

He tried to put himself in Reid's shoes, imagine standing by Haley if he found out there were skeleton's in her closet. Vows pointed to standing by her through everything. Sickness and in health includes mental sickness, right. Or wrong? He didn't know. It was the biggest moral dilemma he'd ever heard of, and he was on the brink of panic just knowing someone else had to deal with that.

Reid took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, before shoving it between his lips roughly. "You don't smoke."

"He had a lot of vices," Reid chuckled. "I guess I needed to pick up enough for the both of us."

"You don't smoke."

"I also don't talk unsub's wife's into giving us information, but apparently today's just full of surprises."

"You don't smoke."

"You know there was someone just like my. . .him. They smoked cigarettes. Or maybe they didn't."

The third time wasn't the charm. The third time was never the charm for Spencer Reid, and the one time it was, it wasn't.

Hotch didn't reiterate a fourth time, he knew Reid wouldn't still be smoking tomorrow. He'd be conscious of it, he didn't actually want any vices. He was making a point. As much as everyone thought Garcia could be one for theatrics, Reid could be as much a dramatic act as Hamlet.

"How'd we miss this," Hotch asked absent-mindedly. It was ironic how the one question he didn't purposely ask was the one with the most telling answer.

A strangled half-laugh escaped Reid's lips. He pushed off the wall and shoved his hands in his pockets and once again squinted at the sun. He crouched down, lightly gasping at the rejection from his bad knee before swiping the cigarette against the ground, effectively putting it out. He slowly took the pack back out and slipped the butt of the cigarette in. Hotch knew that theatrics of this kind meant something big was coming, and he was leaning forward in anticipation.

"I don't know. If I had to guess, I'd say there were houses to search, journals to look through. . .FBI agents to find."

It. All. Fell. In. Place. Hotch gasped, and that was Reid's cue to leave. Reid disappeared around the corner, plastering a fake smile on his face before going back in the police station. One minute he was there, the next he wasn't.


End file.
